


The End of the World as We Know It

by CirrusGrey



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Cows, Domesticity, End of the World, Episode Related, Fluff and Angst, Living Together, M/M, Makeouts, Non-Linear Narrative, Scottish cottage, and there were two beds but they only used one, apocalypse boyfriends, episode 160 spoilers, implied daisy/basira, rating is for swears, yes this is way too many tags but they are all applicable
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-03
Updated: 2019-11-03
Packaged: 2021-01-21 10:25:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21297929
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CirrusGrey/pseuds/CirrusGrey
Summary: SPOILERS FOR MAG 160!!!A cottage in the countryside, an apocalypse, and some damn good cows.
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims
Comments: 48
Kudos: 395
Collections: Repulsed/Averse Ace Jon Archivist





	The End of the World as We Know It

**Author's Note:**

> I started working on this Thursday. I finished it last night, Saturday. It is the longest story I've ever posted, by several hundred words, and I wrote it in three days. I have a lot of feelings about the finale, okay????

The wind rattles the shutters outside, a cold and lonely noise. Martin shivers, reaching over to throw another log on the small fire before turning back to finish unpacking his bags. They've only been here since last night, and he's only now starting to settle in. Jon's things are still haphazardly trailing out of his suitcase, shoved off into a corner of the room upstairs. 

It is... strange, living together. Not unpleasant, but it feels... strange. Martin thinks it's because he is happy. It's been a long time since he could say that, and the emotion is almost foreign to him now. And yet... he  _ is _ happy. He still can't quite believe he's allowed to have this, after everything that's happened. 

~~~~~

_ Martin wasn't quite sure when they left the Lonely behind and stumbled back into the tunnels under the Institute. All he knew was that Jon's hand was still tight around his, warm and strong and  _ real, _ and even though they had left the empty shores far behind them he showed no signs of letting go. _

_ They returned to the world in the same place they had left it, standing on top of the Panopticon's tower. It was empty, now; the still body of Jonah Magnus and a discarded knife lying on the floor the only signs of the confrontation that had taken place.  _

_ Martin felt Jon's hand twitch in his own: his eyes were on the knife. _

_ "It's not worth it." _

_ "Sorry?" Jon glanced at him, a slight furrow in his brow.  _

_ "Killing him. It's not worth it. He told me- it's not just the Archives, Jon.  _ Everyone _ at the Institute is tied to him. It might kill all of them." _

_ Jon's eyes widened. "Oh." He threw one last look at the knife, at the corpse - then squeezed Martin's hand. "Let's get out of here, then." _

_ Martin didn't know how they found their way out of the tunnels. They had no map, no guiding thread. Yet it wasn't long before they were in an area he recognized, well-trodden halls they had used so long ago for conspiring against Elias. _

_ They weren't- it wasn't  _ running, _ exactly, but they were moving at a pretty fair pace, hurrying along with a sense of urgency even though Martin didn't know if they were running  _ from, _ or running _ to. _ Either way, it was fast enough that the sound of their footsteps covered the matching set heading toward them. They turned a corner and collided full-speed with a figure running the other way. _

_ Both parties jumped back, both cried out- and Jon and Martin's joint shout of "Basira?" overlapped with her cry of "Jon! Oh god... Martin? You're back!" _

_ "Basira what- what happened? I thought you and Daisy-" _

_ She cut Jon off. "She told me to go. She..." her voice caught; she cleared her throat and tried again. "She's handling it." _

_ Martin didn't know why those words made Jon flinch, why he let out a soft "Oh..." He just clutched his hand tighter, and asked "Handling what? Did you- did you see the, the  _ thing _ that took Sasha? Peter let it out, he-" _

_ "We saw it." Her voice was clipped and cool, now; her control regained. "It, and the Hunters." _

_ "Hunters?" _

_ "Julia Montauk and Trevor Herbert." Jon spoke quietly, still sounding shaken by Basira's news. "They attacked, too. It was... I think they went after the- the other thing. But-" _

_ "They did. And then Daisy went after them both." _

_ "Oh god..." Jon's voice was heartbreakingly soft. "I'm sorry, Basira." _

_ "It was her choice." She flicked a glance at Martin, took in his confused expression. "She turned back to the Hunt. Willingly. To protect me." _

_ And now Martin understood the fear, the grief. "Basira, I..." _

_ She shook her head. "Save it. She wouldn't want me to- we have to keep moving forward. What were you running from?" _

_ "N-nothing, really." Jon gestured vaguely behind them. "Just... running. And you?" _

_ "I was trying to find you. We should head back to the Archives. If you're ready to face..." _

_ "Let's go." _

_ They didn't need to face anything, in the end. By the time they got back to the trapdoor there was nothing left in the Archives but smeared blood and overturned shelves. Jon waved a hand at the chaos, speaking hesitantly.  _

_ "Should we wait for... or  _ look _ for..." _

_ "No." Basira's voice was firm. "We need to go. We do  _ not _ want to be here when the police arrive." _

_ Martin stuck close by Jon's side as he and Basira hastily recovered what belongings they could from the mess. They had been living there for quite some time; Martin, however, had not. _

_ "Should we... I mean, can we stop by my flat? I know the police will probably be looking there, but..." _

_ Jon looked to Basira for confirmation. She nodded. "We've got time. We shouldn't stay, though." _

_ It took five minutes, shoving clothes and a few of his more treasured composition books into a bag. Basira stood by the windows the entire time, staring out at the street with a guarded expression. Jon followed Martin around with a small smile on his face, quietly remarking on the decorating scheme ("I had no idea you were so into retro furnishings, Martin,") and once exclaiming softly over a book, "I loved that one in Uni!" _

_ (Martin shoved the book into the bottom of his bag when Jon wasn't looking. He'd been halfway through it when the Unknowing happened, and had never finished; he thought, just maybe, he might be able to now.) _

_ And then he bid the flat farewell forever, and they headed out to find a hotel to lay low for the night.  _

~~~~~

The door opens behind Martin. He turns, smiling, to find a wind-swept Jon grinning back at him.

"Oh, good, you got a fire started. It's a bit chilly out."

"Yeah, I noticed. This place doesn't exactly have the best insulation."

Jon laughs, open and carefree in a way Martin had never dared hope he could. He crosses the room, settling down next to Martin on the couch. There isn't much in the way of furniture in this place, but there's enough. 

"All unpacked?"

"Yep, this is the last of it." It's the books; the clothes have been left upstairs. "I thought bringing these down here might make this place feel a little more...  _ homey." _

"Good idea." Jon's eyes flick over the covers. "Am I to take this as permission to read your poetry then, or...?"

Martin laughs nervously. "I mean, if you want to. It's not exactly stellar stuff."

"Nonsense." Jon waves a hand dismissively. "It's yours, I'm sure it's amazing."

Martin ducks his head in embarrassment. He's not used to that yet, the casual compliments. He's not sure if he'll ever be. 

"S-so, uh. Anyway. How's it looking outside?"

"Good. It looks good. It looks..." Jon frowns, searching for the right word. "...secure. We've got good sightlines from here. Should be able to see anyone coming even without..."

"Without  _ Seeing _ them."

"Exactly."

"You still sure about that, then?" There's a certain level of scepticism in Martin's voice. Proud though he is of Jon for trying not to use his powers, he can't help thinking it's a bit like trying not to feel the fabric of your own trousers. Sure, you might not be  _ aware _ that you're feeling them, but...

"I'm sure. I should- no. I  _ want _ to be as human as possible, while we're here."

The  _ for you _ goes unspoken, but it makes Martin smile anyway. 

"Well then. Maybe Mr. Human can go unpack his bags, because we're going to be here a while and we don't have to act like it's a hotel anymore."

Jon chuckles. "Alright, alright. You don't need to remind me." He leans forward, pressing a quick kiss to Martin's lips before he stands. "I'll be down in a bit to help with whatever you're working on."

"Thanks." Martin watches him go with a fond, slightly dazed expression. That's another thing he's not used to yet: small gestures of affection. Jon, it turns out, is an overwhelmingly attentive and caring man once you get past his walls, and Martin has somehow managed to shatter all of them. He hadn't even realized he was doing it, until after Jon had pulled him from the Lonely. 

~~~~~

_ The hotel had it advertised as a family suite: two single beds in one room, a double in the other, with a shared bathroom between. Basira dumped her bag on the double bed without comment, leaving Jon and Martin to sort themselves out with the singles. _

_ She paused in the doorway between the two rooms, hesitating for a second with it half-open. _

_ "There's a lot of stuff we need to talk about. All three of us. But I think it can wait until morning, yeah?" _

_ Martin nodded assent, and Jon followed suit. His voice was still soft when he spoke to her. _

_ "Goodnight, Basira." _

_ "You too, Jon. Martin." _

_ Martin gave her a weak smile that she returned half-heartedly; then she stepped back, closing the door behind her. _

_ "I can't even imagine..." Jon's voice gave out, and he sighed and shook his head. "You okay, Martin?" _

_ "Hm? Oh, yeah." Martin shrugged. "As okay as can be expected, I guess.  _ I _ didn't lose..." _

_ "Yes." Jon stared at him, intense and focused, as though he couldn't bear to look away. Martin... didn't quite know what to do with that. He  _ was _ okay, he hadn't been lying - but 'okay' was a far cry from 'good' when the opposite side of the scale was 'trapped in a Lonely hellscape forever.' _

_ He was... scared. That one was easy. He hadn't been  _ not _ scared in years. He was also relieved, because all the traps he had inadvertently built for himself had crumbled and he was finally free. Guilty, too, can't forget that, he'd nearly gotten Jon killed and hadn't done a thing to stop Peter unleashing the thing that had taken Sasha.  _

_ And... curious. Deeply curious. Because Jon had almost  _ died _ for him. And he still hadn't explained why. _

_ "Are you, uh, are you heading to bed immediately? There's... there's some things I don't want to wait until tomorrow to talk about." _

_ Oh. Curiosity would be the first addressed, then. "Such as?" _

_ Jon shifted nervously, running a hand through his hair. "In the Lonely, you, uh, you said..." he stopped.  _

_ "I said a lot of things, Jon. Which one d'you mean?" _

_ Jon took a deep breath, seeming to steel himself for the next words. "Y- you said... you loved me." _

_ "Oh." And, well. It's not like Martin hadn't seen this conversation coming. He'd just hoped it could wait until morning. "Yeah. I, I did. I do. Love you. I don't expect you to-" _

_ "I love you too." _

_ Martin froze halfway through the sentence."What?" _

_ "I love you." Jon stepped forward, reaching out a hand to grab Martin's and bringing it to his chest. "I didn't want to make assumptions- if your feelings had changed I would, would  _ understand- _ but, Martin, if you still feel the same..." _

_ "I do." Martin's gaze jumped between Jon's face, open and vulnerable in his sincerity, and his hand, still clutching Martin's own. "I love you, Jon." _

_ Jon breathed out, tension draining from his shoulders and a smile forming on his face. He nodded, squeezing Martin's hand. "In that case, can- do you mind sharing, tonight?" He jerked his head toward one of the beds. "I... don't particularly want to sleep alone." _

_ And Martin hadn't fully processed the implications of what they had just confessed, but he wasn't going to say no to that. Besides, he believed Jon, even if it hadn't sunk in. It was as good an explanation as any as to why he had risked his life for Martin.  _

_ It was cramped, of course, with two adult men on a single bed. Jon was squeezed onto the very edge, no matter how hard Martin tried to give him space by making himself small. Jon protested as soon as he realized what Martin was doing. He didn't mind if Martin took up most of the bed, he said, because with his size came a softness and warmth that Jon treasured. Martin... still couldn't quite process that. It was all happening too fast. Even so, he sighed, reaching out an arm to draw Jon close, enveloping him in the soft flannel of his pajama shirt. Jon snuggled even closer, away from the edge of the bed and into Martin's chest, and his heart skipped a beat. It was still cramped, and they were both still falling off their own respective sides of the small mattress, but it didn't matter. They held each other, balanced, in the middle, and fell asleep to the sound of their joint heartbeats. _

~~~~~

Martin spares a second to laugh at himself for his own reaction. There's only one bed in the safehouse as well, and neither he nor Jon had hesitated before collapsing into it together the previous night. Martin has gotten into the habit of crowding Jon's space as much as possible when they sleep; Jon makes it easy for him, clinging back with all his bony strength. 

~~~~~

_ The next morning over breakfast they discussed their plans.  _

_ "We have to get out of London." Jon's voice was firm, but his hand trembled a little where it was clasped with Martin's. "I don't know what Elia- what  _ Magnus _ wants, but Lukas said it had something to do with me. Whatever his plans are, I want to be far away from him." _

_ Martin pulled out his phone with his free hand, bringing up a bus schedule, and started listing destinations they could get to quickly. Jon peered over his shoulder, offering suggestions. Basira sat quietly, picking at a piece of toast. _

_ After a few minutes she looked up and shook her head. "No." _

_ "Sorry, what?" Martin pulled his gaze from his phone, head still full of price comparisons for various bus lines and hotels.  _

_ "I'm not leaving. You two can. You  _ should. _ But I have to stay." _

_ "Basira... why?" There was worry in Jon's voice, and on his face.  _

_ "Why do you think?" _

_ "You have no idea if she's staying in London." _

_ "But it's the last place I saw her. It's- it's her main hunting ground. If I'm going to find her, I'll find her here." _

_ "Are you sure you want to?" _

_ Basira gave him a look of mixed exasperation and pity, and tilted her head slightly toward Martin. "Wouldn't you?" _

_ Jon flushed and looked away. Basira stared at him for a second before continuing. "Besides, I doubt I'm a central figure in Magnus's plans. I don't need to run from him. And I want to find out what's going to happen to the Institute." _

_ "Have you seen the news?" Martin proffered his phone. "It's crawling with police. You won't even be able to get close." _

_ "Not right now, maybe, but I still have contacts in the force and I'm willing to wait. Look, this isn't up for discussion. It's my decision. I'm staying." _

_ "Well then... we'll miss you." Basira looked surprised at Jon's words, but smiled.  _

_ "You too. Stay safe out there." She paused. "Do you want me to... I won't tell Melanie what's happened, if you don't want me to. I know it's a bit complicated for you, since she's with Georgie and all..." _

_ "Georgie can think what she will. Melanie deserves to know what's going on. She's still a friend. Just..." he bit his lip. "Don't drag her back into this. If she says she doesn't want to hear it..." _

_ "I'll leave her be. No offence, Jon, but I have a rather better track record for that than you do." _

_ Jon actually laughed at that, leaning into Martin's side and stifling the sound in his shoulder.  _

_ They parted ways after the meal, Basira to see what she could find out from her contacts and Jon and Martin to the bus station. And so began their new life, for the next several weeks at least. Public transportation, cheap hotels, one eye always on the road ahead and the other fixed behind to see if they were being followed.  _

_ It shouldn't have been so nice. By rights they should have been miserable, tired and stressed from the constant travel. And yet... _

_ They fit into each other's lives so easily. They spent hours - literally hours - doing nothing but talking to each other as the scenery rolled by outside, conversation drifting between shared memories and their lives before they met, interests and hobbies and what ifs and plans for the future. Sometimes they stayed in silence, thinking, reading, writing, never tiring of the other's presence by their side. Occasionally they would stop somewhere for more than a single day; in these places, they would explore the local shops and scenery, tourists in their own country, and marvel at the small wonders of life that they had been cut off from for so long. _

_ And as easy as it was to be together, it became easier to be apart as well. The first few days they practically clung to each other, unable to bear even a moment apart, but by the end of the first week they were relaxing. Martin ran to the store to grab an umbrella, as he had forgotten to pack his own; Jon wandered off to the library to find a new novel with which to pass the time. Neither feared for a moment that the other wouldn't be there when they got back. _

_ Perhaps it was strange that they waited so long to kiss. But before that day it hadn't felt necessary. For Martin's part, wanting to kiss Jon had been a part of his life for so long that not acting on the desire felt completely natural, even though he was allowed to, now. For Jon... it honestly didn't seem to occur to him. Not until Martin paused, halfway through crossing yet another cheap hotel room, and said "You know something? I don't think I'm scared, anymore." _

_ "Sorry?" _

_ "I'm not scared. At all. It's weird, I have been for  _ so long, _ but... I'm not. Being here, with you, all of this... I feel safe." _

_ Jon's face took on the softest expression Martin had ever seen on him. "Martin..." _

_ Martin laughed. "I know it's weird, we're still in danger, but-" _

_ He was cut off by Jon crossing the room in a few quick strides, cupping his face in his hands, and kissing him. _

_ It was... a lot. Jon's lips were soft and warm, his hands gentle as he brushed his thumbs over Martin's cheeks. He was breathing through his nose, the air tickling Martin's face on every exhale, and he seemed inclined to stay like that for the rest of the night if Martin would let him. Martin certainly intended to. _

_ They did stand there for quite a while, in fact, lips moving in slow tandem as the kiss stretched on. At some point Martin's hand tangled in Jon's shirt, keeping his steady heartbeat under one palm while the other cupped the back of his neck. _

_ Eventually, though, something changed. Martin started tugging Jon back toward the bed, and Jon broke off the kiss with a gasp. _

_ "Wait- Martin, I don't-" He hadn't let go of Martin's face, unwilling to end the kiss even as he protested.  _

_ It took Martin a second to realize what Jon was telling him; when he did, he hurried to reassure."My legs are getting tired, Jon. I don't want to do anything other than kiss. I just want to, you know, sit down while doing it." It was true; he really  _ hadn't _ considered the implications of dragging someone into bed. _

_ "Oh." Jon smiled, and Martin felt the tension that had been building drain from his shoulders as he tugged him toward the bed again. This time, Jon followed easily.  _

_ They arranged themselves with Martin sitting back against the headboard, head tilted back against the cheap plywood. Jon settled into his lap, hands clutching Martin's shoulders, Martin's hands around his waist. It was... nicer, Jon admitted a few minutes later, resting his forehead against Martin's. Martin had been right. Having him here, solid and real under his hands, and Jon able to dip his head down to kiss him soft and slow. It was nice.  _

_ Martin blushed furiously at his words, and Jon blinked in consternation at his own admission. Martin shook his head, laughed, and cupped a hand around the back of Jon's neck, drawing him in for another kiss. _

_ (They did, eventually, address the sex question, a few days after leaving that hotel. Jon stuttered and stumbled his way through an in-depth, extensive explanation that essentially boiled down to a very emphatic no; Martin casually said "So you're asexual and sex repulsed, then?" and sent him into a flustered tailspin of research, with positive conclusions. Martin cherished the small grin Jon wore when he finally turned away from the computer that night, and resolved to buy him an ace pride pin as soon as humanly possible.) _

_ In the end it was financial considerations that drove them to the safehouse. Happy as they were with traveling England together, staying in hotels for almost a month straight wasn't exactly good for a budget. _

_ Jon raised the question with Basira the next time he called to check in, and reported to Martin soon after that there was a small cottage in Scotland, currently unoccupied, that they could stay in if they wished. Martin agreed that it was a good plan; they would be far from the Institute and any threats it still posed, as well as one step farther away from the long arm of the law, if it decided to blame Jon again for people being attacked at the Institute. _

_ Still. There was one thing about the idea that made Martin's heart do a flip in his chest, ridiculous though it was. _

_ “Scotland, huh?” he said, trying to keep his voice neutral.  _

_ “Yes.” Jon gave him a curious look. “What’s wrong with Scotland?” _

_ “No, it’s just-” Martin laughed a little, embarrassed. “You do know people used to run away to Scotland to elope, right?” It was such a small thing to latch on to, and yet... _

_ “Oh.” Jon glanced away. A slight flush began to creep up his cheeks. “Well, I can’t say I o-  _ object _ to the connotations. Especially given our, uh, c- current situation.”  _

_ “Oh,” Martin echoed; his heart did another flip. Jon was  _ stuttering. _ It had taken a while for Martin to notice, but he only did  _ that _ when he was particularly nervous – or flustered. “I, uh… I can’t say I object, either.” _

_ Jon’s flush deepened, and he squeezed Martin’s hand. It was settled. They were going to Scotland, to live in a small cottage in the countryside.  _

~~~~~

And now they are here, and Martin couldn't be happier. It had been another long journey, and Jon had passed the time filling Martin in on various facts about the place they were heading; all found online, as he was trying not to  _ Look. _ They'd both gotten a good laugh at the cow pictures he'd unearthed - then quickly changed their tune to disbelief when they saw one in person. They were  _ huge. _

Martin smiles, turning on his phone to admire his new lock screen. Jon, open-mouthed, standing next to an absolute giant of a cow, wide eyes taking in the horns, the fur, the  _ everything. _ It is slightly blurry, taken at dusk, but still one of Martin's favorite pictures he's ever taken. 

He frowns, and turns to call up the stairs. "Hey Jon? Do cows have fur, or is it hair?"

"What?" His voice is muffled.

"Do cows have-"

"Can't hear you, I'll be down in a minute!"

Martin rolls his eyes and turns away. He'd just google it, but the service out here is terrible.

A few minutes later Jon comes downstairs, fiddling with a tape recorder. "What were you saying?"

"Are cows furry or hairy?"

"Oh." Jon frowns, thinks for a minute - and frowns harder. "I... I don't actually know..."

He looks very put out by this fact. Martin laughs, walking over to kiss the disappointed expression from his face. "Not a big deal. Just curious."

"Still, I'll keep it in mind to look up later, when we figure out the internet up here." He walks over to the kitchen table, sets the tape recorder down and pokes at it some more. Martin goes back to searching drawers and cupboards, seeing what they've got to work with. It's not much.

After a few minutes Martin hears the recorder click on; the noise sends a spike of anxiety up his spine, even though he knows it's just him and Jon in the room. He had really wanted to leave those blasted things behind in England. 

"Everything alright?"

Jon seems to sense his unease, triumphant smile quickly being replaced by an awkward shrug. "Just making sure it works."

~~~~~

Martin goes to the store; he calls Basira; he picks up the bag of statements from the local post office. It's a nice day out, though rather windy. He takes his time walking back from the village, drinking in the sunlight and peaceful calm of the fields. When he gets back to the safehouse he finds Jon with his nose buried deep in a novel, curled up on the couch in front of the fire, and it is so normal, so  _ home, _ that he can't hold back his besotted smile.

Jon helps him unpack the groceries, and Martin makes tea. Then they sit in front of the fire together, and Martin catches Jon up on the news from Basira. Jon spends the conversation leaning into Martin's side until he pulls over the bag of statements. At that, he sits up, curious and expectant. Martin recognizes the hunger in his eyes, though he's found it doesn't bother him. As long as Jon's happy, he doesn't care if he subsists on horror stories. 

Still, Jon prefers not to have an audience while he reads. Martin isn't sure if it's personal preference, or if he's just embarrassed by this part of himself that is so far from human. Either way, Martin doesn't want to make Jon uncomfortable.

"Well, as  _ fun _ as listening to you monologue is, I  _ will _ give you some privacy. Go for a walk..." He pulls himself reluctantly from the couch, taking his arm from around Jon's shoulders. 

Jon's eyes follow him as he stands, a fond smile dancing around his lips. "Let me know if you see any good cows."

It's said in such a tone that Martin can already feel the beginnings of an inside joke brewing. Cows, he thinks, are going to be a part of their relationship for a long time. He rolls his eyes, scoffing.  _ "Obviously _ I'm going to tell you if I see any good  _ cows." _

Jon laughs softly, and Martin throws him a smile and a wink as he walks to the door. He grabs his coat as he goes - chilly out - and closes the door quietly behind. Jon's  _ 'statement of...' _ fades into the distance as he sets off to look for cows. A joke is a joke, after all, and Martin is determined to drag this one on for as long as possible. 

The wind picks up a bit as he walks, gusts getting stronger, and Martin frowns at the clouds rolling in overhead. He hasn't heard anything about a storm today; maybe it's just some passing cloud cover?

It's not that far to the village, but he walks in the other direction. He's trying to get the lay of the land; if they're going to be staying here a while - and he has seen in Jon's eyes that the desire to stay here a while is mutual - he wants to know all the best walking paths, the best views, the best  _ everything. _

He's just stopped to take a picture of a shaggy cow, far off across the field and posing picturesquely against the rolling green landscape, when he hears the first rumble of thunder. It's not raining - not yet - and the clouds don't seem organized enough to produce a true storm. Martin debates with himself for a few minutes, taking a couple more pictures of the cow. It's probably safe to stay out for a little longer.

By the time the storm breaks he's gone far past the mental line he set for himself, and he groans in discomfort as he is instantly drenched by the sheeting water. It soaks right through his jacket, right through his shoes; the ground he stands on turns to mud in five seconds flat.

His shoe sticks as he tries to pull it free, and he almost falls when he finally yanks it loose. That is- that's weird, isn't it? Martin's not exactly a country boy, but he knows how mud works, and it shouldn't get that bad that fast. 

Lighting flashes overhead, leaving a blinding darkness in its wake. The clouds have rolled in thick and heavy now, obscuring the sun completely and leaving Martin in dim gloom. He takes another step, and his stomach swoops. Is he on a hill? He didn't think he was on a hill, why is the ground falling away from him and-

The fear hits him like a punch to the gut, and Martin runs. One of his shoes is left behind in the mud, but he barely even notices. Not when the ground won't stay still, falling away and rising up to choke him in turns, not when the lightning twists and branches and leaves behind a smell of ozone but no light. Not when there is smoke on the wind, and the sound of screams, and the panicked thud of hooves as unseen cows flee the thing that hunts them. 

Not when Martin is scared, really, truly scared, because he may be out in the midst of it all but Jon is back home alone, and Jon has a tendency to be targeted by whatever supernatural horror has chosen to haunt them this week. And this looks like all of them.

He is going to die before he makes it back. He is going to die, but this still does not scare him as much as the thought that he is never going to see Jon again. The air is tainted with the familiar scent of brine, and Martin stumbles under the memory of endless waves on foreign shores.

_ No. _ He  _ will _ get back to the cottage. 

He focuses; over and around the fear, branching through the chaos of the world, underpinning all the horror, Martin can feel that he is being watched. It shouldn't be a comfort, but it is: Jon's god is with him, and if Jon's god is with him, than he can pretend that Jon is, too.

He makes it, somehow. Bruised, battered, muddy, still soaked even though the rain has long since ended. The cottage is an oasis of calm once he gets inside, but that is not a comfort: it is far,  _ far _ too still for a place that should be occupied by the Archivist. 

One of the windows has shattered, and Martin steps carefully around the broken glass, avoiding it with his socked foot and letting it crunch under his remaining shoe. The fire has gone out.

Jon is lying on the floor between the couch and the coffee table. Martin runs to him, shoving the table out of the way and falling to his knees. He doesn't see any blood, so he doesn't think Jon hit his head on the way down... but he is so, so still, and so, so quiet, and Martin can't tell if he's breathing or not.

"No no no no no," he's vaguely aware that he's hyperventilating. He pulls Jon into his lap, clutching desperately at his arms, his shoulders, his face, his hair. "Wake up, wake up, J- Jon, Jon,  _ Jon- wake up!" _ He slaps him, an impulse born of pure panic and no rational thought. He will  _ not _ lose him again. 

Jon wakes with a cry, hands finding Martin's arms as he looks around in confusion. "Martin?"

"Jon!" Martin's fingers flutter over his cheek for no other reason than overwhelming relief. His other arm tightens around Jon's back and he leans forward, curling around him protectively, wanting to be as close as possible. 

"W-what... oh god." Jon's face goes slack with terror. Then his eyes find Martin's, voice turning sharp. "What happened?"

"I, I don't, I don't  _ know." _ He can feel the tears in his own voice. "Everything..." He still can't process all of it, but now that the fear is no longer subsumed under his terror for Jon it is hitting him in waves. "It's all gone wrong."

"Help me up." Martin doesn't want to do that, doesn't want to let Jon out of the safe circle of his arms. But he does, standing and using the momentum to pull Jon up after him. Jon sags into him for a second, then takes a step toward the door with a determined look on his face. Martin grabs his arm, hauling him back.

"N-n-no,  _ don't- _ don't, don't go outside. It's... it's  _ real _ bad."

Jon looks at him for a moment, biting his lip, before stepping over to the shattered window. He looks outside- and stumbles backward into Martin's arms, unblinking eyes fixed on the sky outside.  _ "Oh god..." _

"I, I don't know if it's just  _ here, _ or-"

"No." Jon's voice is low, fragile. "No, it's everywhere. They're all here, now. I can feel... all of it." By the end of the sentence he's trembling in Martin's arms. 

"J..." Martin has to stop, try again. "Jon, I'm scared."

Jon shakes his head. "The whole world is afraid, Martin. Because of me. And the Watcher..." His eyes are still fixed on the sky. "...drinks it all in."

Martin... doesn't really know what to do with that, or with the edge of reverence in Jon's voice when he speaks. 

"Jon?" He doesn't think Jon hears him over the storm outside.

"Look at the sky, Martin." The reverence has given way to hysteria, and  _ that _ Martin knows how to handle. He tightens his arms around Jon's chest even as one shaking hand is raised to point out the window. "Look at the  _ sky. _ It's looking  _ back..." _ And Jon- he doesn't laugh, exactly, and he doesn't cry either. Caught somewhere between the two, he makes a high-pitched, thready noise, hitching on his unstable breaths, a fragile sound that unnerves Martin almost as much as the chaos outside. 

And then he does cry.

Martin loosens his grip slightly, letting Jon turn to press his face against his chest. His hands clutch at Martin's jacket, and sobs wrack his thin frame. Martin holds him close, beginning to step back so he can pull them both to the couch, but curiosity gets the better of him. 

One step toward the window, mindful of the broken glass - and thank heavens Jon wears shoes around the house, otherwise his feet would be torn to shreds - and Martin peers out the window at the sky. The sky looks back.

"Huh." Martin tilts his head to the side, wondering how he missed that before. It's not like a giant eye in the sky is  _ subtle, _ even if it  _ is _ sharing the space with clouds; but, well, he supposes he had other things on his mind.

He pulls Jon to the couch. There's not much else he can do, after that, except hold him and whisper reassurances. Jon is entirely insensible, pressing himself into Martin's arms and curling in on himself. Martin kisses his forehead, runs a hand through his hair. Looks nervously at the window to make sure nothing's crawling through. Tries to remember if he locked the door on his way in; he's pretty sure he did: run, slam, turn, and lock; he'll check it later, just to be safe.

The bag of statements is still on the couch next to where they sit, and the pages of the one Jon had been reading lie scattered over the coffee table and floor. For lack of anything better to do, Martin gathers up the ones from the floor, one arm still wrapped around Jon, and uses his foot to hook the table closer again. There's an inactive tape recorder sitting in the corner, the one Jon had been fixing that morning. Martin shoots it an accusatory look, as though this is all somehow  _ its _ fault. 

The pages aren't numbered, and Martin gives each a quick skim to figure out where they fit together chronologically. Or, at least, he plans to. As soon as he realizes what is contained in those pages he reads them front to back, and then again for good measure. His hand is white-knuckled by the time he's done, fist clenched around the fabric of Jon's shirt.

He tosses them aside, letting them scatter over the table again, and hauls Jon up by his shoulders. Jon's face is a mess, tear-streaked and snotty; Martin grabs him by the hair and drags him into a fierce kiss. Jon makes a shocked noise, but doesn't resist, and Martin pulls back again. Jon's eyes are closed, tears leaking from their corners. 

"Look at me. Jon,  _ look at me." _ He does, though his gaze is unfocused. Martin places his hands on either side of his head, keeping him steady. "This is  _ not _ because of you, okay? This is because a two hundred year old bastard wanted immortality. This is  _ not your fault." _

"It... it is though." Jon's voice is hoarse, faint, but at least he's aware enough to talk. "I'm the one who..."

"Was manipulated. I read the statement, okay? I know what's going on."

"I read it too..." Jon's drifting again; Martin pats his cheek gently.

"Hey. Hey, Jon, stay with me. You didn't have a choice. We both know you can't stop a statement once you've started it, you  _ told _ me what happened with Annabelle."

Jon's eyes focus a bit on that. "Was that a warning, do you think, or just her way of bragging, knowing I wouldn't be able to stop..." he gestures vaguely to the world outside. 

"I don't know, Jon. I don't think we should try to second-guess the spiders." 

Jon exhales, a weary smile tugging at his mouth. "Still my fault, though."

Martin sits back, letting his hands fall away. Jon is present again, no longer hysterical; he doesn't need to be in his face about this. "It's not."

"Yes, it is." His expression is pensive, and he reaches up to brush some of the mud off of Martin's face. "I'm sorry. I know you thought you were safe with me."

"Still do." Martin catches Jon's hand and places a kiss on the back of it. The world is ending outside, it is true - but in this room everything is still and quiet, and they have time to talk about the important things before they need to face whatever waits outside the door. "Why don't you tell me why you think this is your fault, and I can tell you why you're wrong?"

"I read the statement."

"We've already established you didn't have a choice about that."

"Everything I've done has played right into his hands."

"He's taken advantage of everything you've done, manipulated you into doing things you wouldn't have done otherwise, and if he didn't exist none of this would have happened."

"I had the chance to make him stop existing. I... I could have killed him, in the Panopticon."

Oh, that is  _ it. _ Jon's reasoning is flimsy at best, and Martin won't stand by and let someone talk about his boyfriend this way. Not even if the person doing the talking  _ is _ his boyfriend. 

"Yeah, okay," he says, and, "sure, maybe you're right," and he sees Jon's eyes widen in fear at his tone. Jon knows Martin as well as Martin knows Jon, and that tone means trouble. "If you had killed Magnus this wouldn't have happened. You know what  _ would _ have happened? Everyone who works for the Institute would have died, including us, probably. Maybe you shouldn't have rescued me from the Lonely?  _ That _ would have stopped all of this. You know what else would have? If I didn't go in there in the first place, or if  _ I'd _ killed him when I had the chance. Maybe this is  _ my _ fault. Do you think Basira shouldn't have dragged you off to face the People's Church? Let an apocalypse happen? Because that's what you  _ thought _ was going to happen, if you didn't go. Maybe you should have left Daisy trapped in the coffin! Or let Melanie fall to the Slaughter the rest of the way! Oh, I know, maybe it's  _ her _ fault- she could have just not joined the Institute in the first place, right? Maybe you should have chosen to  _ die, _ left us all behind instead coming back to me after your coma. You  _ could _ have decided not to chase after Mike Crew and Jude Perry - maybe  _ not _ run when you saw a dead body, stayed behind to clear your name with the police so Daisy didn't start chasing you? Those  _ definitely _ sounded like good ideas at the time. Here's another good idea: what if we just let ourselves get eaten by worms, way back when? Or if you had turned down the promotion to Head  _ fucking _ Archivist in the first place? No." Martin shakes his head, pointing viciously at the papers strewn across the table. "This is on  _ him. _ We don't have the luxury of blaming ourselves for things we couldn't predict. Not anymore. We made our choices, yeah, but there was no way in  _ hell _ we could have seen this coming. This isn't your fault, Jon."

Jon has closed his eyes again by the time Martin finishes. He breathes out shakily, and gives one small, firm nod. 

"You're right. I can't let this break me. There's too much at stake. Even if it is my fault-" He opens his eyes and covers Martin's mouth with his hand before he can protest. "-and I'm willing to consider the possibility that it might not be. But even if it is. I can't afford to wallow in guilt. I need to be ready to help fix it, however I can."

His hand falls from Martin's mouth, and Martin smiles. "Good. So... where do we begin?"

~~~~~

Winter is setting in. Martin walks slowly around the cottage, hand held close to the wall to feel for drafts. They've improved the insulation significantly in the time they've been here, but it never hurts to double check. As always, it is the boards they've nailed over the broken window that are the worst problem. Martin sighs, making a note to bring it up with Jon when he gets back from the village.

They're doing surprisingly okay, all things considered. Cut off from the outside world? Yes. Surrounded by nightmares on all sides? Sure. But... okay. No one's run out of food yet, they still have water, heat... sporadic electricity, but it's better than none.

Martin tosses another log in the fire, picking up the book he had grabbed from his flat so long ago. He's almost done with it, now, and Jon had been right: it  _ is _ good.

Jon returns within the half-hour, closing the door quickly behind himself and stamping his feet on the rug to shake off... looks like mud again, today. Beats the rivers of blood from last week. He pulls down the scarf he's had wrapped around the lower half of his face (for smoke, usually, but a few days back there had been floating spores in the air as well - always fun when the Corruption tries something new), and smiles at Martin.

"Good news! Turns out it was  _ not _ the Slaughter going after all the birds in the area, someone's cat just got loose."

"Are the two really all that different?"

Jon laughs, shedding layers of protective clothing before joining Martin on the couch. "You may have a point, there." He leans in for a quick kiss. "Everything good here?"

"Still got a draft by the window, but other than that, yes. Whatever's been keeping the...  _ things _ away from this place is still working." Jon frowns at that. They're both pretty sure it's  _ him. _

They've been relatively untouched by the apocalypse. Jon may not have chosen to set it off, but it was still his power that brought the Fears through into this world, and they seem to acknowledge that. It's why he can walk down to the village without worrying about being the target of an attack; why Martin is safe if he goes with him, but in immediate danger if he steps outside alone; why this cottage still stands, untouched, even as the world crumbles around it. They are still at risk from the ambient threats, it's true: the smoke, the mud, the spores - but they don't face the individualized attacks that the people in the village do.

It's a bit of a balancing act, lending what help they can without revealing their own ties to the monsters that surround them, but so far they have managed it.

"Enough about that, though. On to the important questions." A single eyebrow creeps up Jon's forehead when Martin leans forward, a serious look on his face. "Did you see any good cows?"

Jon laughs, reaching forward to grab Martin's hand and giving it a squeeze. "I did indeed. Say what you like about post-apocalyptic hellscapes, you mix one of those things up with the Spiral and their horns get  _ so _ curly."

"Tell me you took pictures."

He had, though he still protests it is a waste of precious battery life. Martin doesn't care. 

Maybe taking pictures of cows in the middle of the apocalypse can be considered frivolous, but he doesn't think so. It is something real, something solid and concrete that brings them closer to each other. It is... living. Not just surviving. 

Jon leans into his shoulder, tilting his phone screen forward to show him a photo, and Martin takes advantage of the proximity to kiss his cheek. Jon brushes him off, holding out the phone again to hide his blush. Surprisingly okay; Martin might even go so far as to say they are doing good. They are still together, after all. They have managed to hold onto that, even through the end of the world.

And Jon is right. They are  _ so _ curly.

**Author's Note:**

> I looked up if cows are furry or hairy and apparently, to scientists, fur is just the term for a lot of hair all growing at once so you could say that cats and dogs are covered in hair and human heads are furry and-
> 
> I'm just going to call cows fluffy from now on.


End file.
